Alastor Moody and I had a little run-in with a Death Eater in Liverpool this morning. Minor player, nobody big, but he thought enough of himself that he decided to fight two Aurors at once when we tried to bring him in. Moody tried to take him alive, but I think my knife must have slipped. Whoops.

Well I finally found my bloody journal. Apparently Willy took a liking to it; it was in the far corner of the dog house. I rather wish I could return during a time less bleak than now. Just when I think nothing can shock me, the Death Eaters sink one step lower. I didn't know Marlene well, but she always struck me as a very nice girl, and...well, innocent. We'll find who did this. We'll find them and we'll make them pay.

It's been a while since I've been out hunting, and it's a feeling I've missed. I took Willy and Annie and out with me this afternoon (any more than two isn't sporting) and we spent the day doing just that. We ended up treeing a coon right near the house, and Alice came out and snapped a picture.

Unfortunately, she made us let it go right after that! Now the dogs are looking at me with this funny expression, kind of like "You've gone soft, mate." Except for Goose, who is being insufferably cute as always.

Field work is definitely keeping me on my toes. MacDonald and I had a lovely afternoon chase in Knockturn Alley, ending in the apprehension of two suspected Death Eaters. Of course, the Prophet won't report this, because good news is bad business (or whatever excuse they use to justify working public relations for the bloody Death Eaters).

Well apparently Mr Crouch was angry enough to take me out from behind a desk permanently. I'm doing field work from now on. As far as I can gather, he sees paperwork as a reward, and actually doing things as a task for lower people. I pretended to be disappointed so he didn't change his mind.

I picked up a copy of Fredrich Nietzsche’s “On the Genealogy of Morals” in a Muggle bookshop today. He was quite an interesting man, this Nietzsche. On the one hand he says a lot of things which I find to be completely and utterly ridiculous. However, every once in a while, he’ll come out with something like this, with which I agree completely:

“That lambs dislike birds of prey does not seem strange: only it gives no ground for reproaching these birds of prey for bearing off little lambs. And if the lambs say among themselves “these birds of prey are evil; and whoever is least like a bird of prey, but rather like its opposite, a lamb – would he not be good?” there is no reason to find fault with this institution of an idea, except, perhaps, that the birds of prey might view it a little ironically and say “we don’t dislike them at all, these good little lambs; we even love them: nothing is more tasty than a tender lamb"…no wonder if the submerged, darkly glowering emotions of vengefulness and hatred exploit this belief for their own ends and in fact maintain no belief more ardently than the belief that the strong man is free to be weak and the bird of prey to be a lamb – for thus they gain the right to make the bird of prey accountable for being a bird of prey.”

How do I reconcile this with being an Auror, a protector of the people? Simple. Not everyone who kills is a bird of prey. And not every bird of prey kills for the right reasons. I refuse to say “This person is evil because they kill.” I’ve never bought into that, and I never will.

Why are they killing? How are they killing? That’s what you’ve got to figure out. Once you know that, go from there.

My name is Frank Longbottom and I am a killer. And I'm comfortable with that.

Well, it was back to work today, and what better to welcome us back than a pile of papers taller than a good sized mountain troll! Oh yeah, good to be back. On top of that, Crouch was screaming blue murder about me cutting my hours back. Well excuse me, sir, but I can't be married to my job and Alice too; polygamy is not on! It's not like I'm quitting or anything; just not working all bloody night anymore.